


To Face Tomorrow

by TheVineSpeaketh



Series: On Coping (Learn to Live Again) [1]
Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Modern: Still Have Powers, Alternate Universe - Still Have Powers, Beast Hank, Depression, Developing Relationship, Erik is a Sweetheart, Happy Ending, M/M, Poor Charles, Protective Erik, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-08
Updated: 2014-08-08
Packaged: 2018-02-12 07:28:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2100831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheVineSpeaketh/pseuds/TheVineSpeaketh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charles is on a bridge, contemplating jumping to his death, when a stranger appears.</p><p>Cherik.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Face Tomorrow

**Author's Note:**

> Title sucks. Might change it later.
> 
> I just wanted to use my plot bunny of Charles on a bridge during winter, so here you go. It has a happy ending, so don't worry!
> 
> I also had to give Raven a happy ending. Because I have real feels for her.

Winter had cast its weary net over the city like a soft blanket, though it seemed as if it had the inevitability of being drawn close to the face, suffocating all beneath its grasp while slowly restricting around the throat. Winter wasn't usually a time when people felt like they were drowning, but the suffocation was definitely there, the pressure slowly building in the throat. As much as winter came with its hidden beauties and its lovely bout of new activities to indulge in--like the warmth of a fireside, or the feeling of your fingertips buzzing while holding a hot cocoa, or someone to strip the damp clothes away from your chilled skin and pin you to the bed underneath the blankets, kissing away the shivers wracking your bones--winter also came with its uncertainties, its lifetime rewards for the unerring doubts in your mind. It came with loneliness, with grey skies and a harrowing sense of the end. It came with the death of color and life, the summer slowly fading away through its glorious death to fall into a deep sleep, snow white and ready to be kissed back to life by the spring sun.

The figure standing on the edge of the bridge was contemplating turning the feeling of suffocating, the feeling of death, into a reality. The water below was a rapid river streaming underneath the bridge in such a manner that he knew, just with a gaze, that the rapids could swallow him, never to be found again. He would not arise a phoenix from the ashes when the spring sun came, though he wondered if the grass above his grave would grow taller with his skin for its nourishment. 

As it stood, the summer sun was a distant memory. And so there he stood, contemplating over the black water below, his messy hair shaking in the winter breeze, the chill penetrating his thin trenchcoat, pressing through his plain white dress shirt. His tie was loosened, hanging limply around his throat. It had been an overbearing weight around his neck before, like the noose being tightened, and he had loosened it before his drive home, before the second he realized that the noose was maybe not such a bad thing after all.

He shifted his weight from foot to foot, the soles of his shined black shoes tapping gently against the asphalt below. For a man the people around him claimed to have unerring optimism, he was certainly quite a sight. He chuckled a bit, though nobody was around to hear him. He supposed it was for the best; he hadn't said anything out loud anyway, and besides, if he had, nobody would have found it all that funny, anyway.

He hoped nobody he knew would pass him by on the way home from their jobs, or on the way to somewhere pleasant, like a date, or the warmth of their beds. He hoped that they wouldn't see him just so he could have this opportunity to stare at the abyss without interruption, because his mind was vast, a void of thought that expanded far beyond the normal reach, and maybe it was because a lot of other people were down during the Christmas season, as his sister Raven had so eloquently put it--her arm draped over her soon-to-be husband Hank's, and he was at least happy she had some support in her life--but he liked to think that this time, maybe, there was something in this that was entirely his own.

It it was sad, wasn't it, he wondered, giving another little chuckle, that everything in his life seemed like a repeat of something else somebody else thought. He sometimes felt like an echo, just a shade of another person's subconscious, and he knew it wasn't a feeling founded on anything, but with his ability, he didn't know how much of what he felt was real or not--was really his or not.

The water, dark was it was, held no secrets for him to unlock. He could give himself freely to it and expect it only to take that which was given. He could be free of it. He really could. His body could be his own, even if his mind wasn't.

He stared down into the water again. He could really do it.

"Hey."

He could feel the nervous mind before he'd even spoken. From where his back was turned he could tell the man was a metalworker. He was just on his way home from work; his car had been totaled the day before so he'd just carried it home, and by the time he'd gotten there he'd been too tired last night to reform the metal, so he'd walked to work today--so he was metallokinetic. It made sense, considering the way his mind felt like the dim surface of a plane of stainless steel. His nervousness fell off of him in sheets of copper. It tasted like pennies every time it reached him.

"Hello." He did not turn around to see what he was doing, but he definitely knew he was hesitating. The man had never seen a jumper on the bridge before. He didn't know what to do.

He hid it well in his voice. "If I may ask, and I do not mean to pry," he said carefully, and yes, now that he could pay close attention, the man did seem to have an accent. Strange, how both of them were in the United States despite being native to places across the sea. "What are you doing out on the bridge?"

"Should I lie to you, or should I give you the truth?" he asked, because it only seemed fair that the stranger had an out. If he didn't want to be in this situation, because it was no doubt terrible to suddenly have someone else's life possibly be in your hands, then he wouldn't begrudge him for asking for the lie and walking away after hearing it. Especially considering the readings his mind gave out; he was still nervous, apprehensive. He was still young. He could live his life and grow old without having to think of this day. Other memories would surely replace it.

"I would like the truth."

He chuckled again. This man was brave. "My name is Professor Charles Xavier," he said, still not turning around, "and I am contemplating surrendering my life to the forces of nature." He finally decided to turn, both of his hands still gripping the railing. "Is that what you wanted to hear?"

As stoic as he appeared to be, Charles was overwhelmed with the sudden realization that this stranger was actually quite attractive. A head of short auburn hair ruffled slightly in the breeze, cheekbones jutting sharply from underneath his fair skin. He had a bit of dark stubble on his jaw, but it was subtle, spattered gently around his thin lips. He was slim, wearing a dark leather jacket and dark jeans, and his hands were in his pockets. He was truly a lovely sight, as much as Charles hadn't been expecting one. Just as he registered the thought that this man was attractive, he got a wave of similar feelings from the stranger.

"Are you sure this is the answer?" he asked breathlessly, a particularly strong gust of wind ruffling his hair, and Charles dropped one hand to his side, still looking at this stranger.

"It is as close to a coherent answer as I can get right now," he replied. He gave it a bit of thought before he amended, "It is as close to a coherent answer as I have been able to get in a very long time."

The man shifted on his feet, but his gaze didn't break from Charles's. "Isn't there someone you'll be leaving behind? Someone who wouldn't want you to go?"

Charles smiled bitterly, turning back to the water, finding it easier to think when he wasn't transfixed on those silver eyes. "They would hardly notice I was missing. She's getting married to the love of her life--my sister would hardly miss me long."

"You would miss so much," the stranger said, moving a little closer, hands still in his pockets.

Charles's smile only grew in sadness with that statement. "Hardly. Nothing seems to happen to me, I'm afraid." He looked out over the water, his voice growing distant. "Nothing _will_ happen."

"Maybe not directly to you," he replied, and this time, his voice sounded right next to Charles. Charles looked to his right, seeing the stranger looking down at the water, too, his face neutral and void of all telling emotions. "But what about your sister's future? You'd miss her wedding. Their first anniversary. The birth of their children. Kindergarten graduation and summer vacations. Think of how awful it would be to grow up without an uncle to spoil them rotten. No tiny, beautiful children to dote over." He turned to Charles. "Would you seriously consider missing out on that?"

Charles was shell-shocked, a feeling of cold dread spreading through him. He thought of Raven and Hank, their blue skin, and thought of tiny children covered in blue fur or slight ridges, smiling up at him with their bright yellow eyes wide and taking in the world. He thought of a cute kindergartner with flaming red hair and blue skin, chatting eagerly about their latest little idea, playing pretend with Uncle Charles in the backyard, stealing them away from Raven and Hank on date nights to watch fun movies and build pillow forts in his apartment.

When Charles came to, he felt cold tracks down his cheeks, and he broke into cries, running his hands into his hair and gripping the tresses tightly. "They would be blue," he whimpered, "and they would be beautiful."

The stranger didn't seem fazed by the statement, probably unconcerned that his sister was a mutant because he himself was one, and he set a large palm across the span of Charles's back, not moving it, but letting it be a comfortable weight across his shoulder blades. Charles just kept crying, too sad to be chagrined about sobbing in front of a practical stranger.

"I don't even know if I could do it," he said, letting his hair go and letting his hands hang over the empty air. "I can't last that long for them, I can't. I've tried so hard and I just _can't_."

"Why not?" the stranger asked. "You've made it this far. Why can't you keep going?"

He tilted his head back, his eyes closed, and he knew without even checking that he was projecting defeat in waves. "My mind is never quiet. I'm a telepath, and I can never forget it. I am always in others' thoughts, as hard as I try. I can't..." He hung his head again. "I can't help but feel as though I am simply a soundboard for other peoples' thoughts, not my own person." He straightened his stance. "All I want is peace: a mind to call my own."

The stranger didn't seem to be affected by his admission, though he did sense something deeply pleased radiating from him once he revealed his own mutation. He didn't know if he would ever get a grip on this stranger's emotions, even if he ended up spending a lifetime with him. 

"You do have a mind of your own, Charles," he replied. "You're already a professor. You've already proven yourself in the world of academia. It will just take practice to keep others from invading your thoughts and vice versa." Before Charles could even ask how he knew it would work, the stranger added, looking back at the water, "I have a friend who is also a telepath. She's taught me a lot about how telepathy works, and she taught me how to sense other telepaths and how to put up mental barriers. She had the same problem for a very long time, but she kept trying." He looked back at Charles again, a bit of hope swimming from the pit of his stomach, reflecting in his eyes. "If you keep trying, Charles, it will work. I promise you."

Charles looked up at him, trying to discern how he could so easily make a promise to a man he had just met. Then, his eyes widened, and he backed a step away from the stranger. "If you knew I was a telepath," he asked, "then why didn't you block me out of your mind?"

The stranger smiled slightly, but his eyes were still concerned and gentle. "I figured the only way to get you to listen to me was if I was open with you. So I left myself open."

Charles thought that was the most selfless thing a stranger has ever done for him. He knew he must have been projecting gratitude, because the stranger smiled openly, looking down at his shoes as if he was flustered by the emotion, but overall pleased. 

"What's your name?" he asked, because he had to know, and he wouldn't pry anymore. Is that the first step? he thought to himself.

The stranger met his eyes, grinning at him. "My name is Erik Lehnsherr," he replied, holding out his hand. "It's been a pleasure meeting you, though I would have liked to have met you under differing circumstances."

Charles smiled, taking Erik's hand with one of his own and rubbing his eyes and ridding them of any clinging tears with the other. "We could make that a reality," he said. "We could start over."

Erik smiled, but he shook his head, releasing Charles's hand and putting his hands back in his pockets. "I could never forget this, Charles. It is not every day you meet someone in circumstances like these."

Charles nodded, trying to beat back his disappointment, understanding keenly that Erik must certainly want his space now. After all, Charles was just a stranger, a crisis that he helped avert. From this angle, he must look riddled with problems, and usually once people found out that Charles was a telepath, they drifted off, fellow mutant or not. Nobody wanted to associate with someone who always knew what you were thinking.

He was surprised when Erik's hand clapped on his shoulder, and he looked up at the taller man, surprised to see him smiling. "If you'd like," he said, "we can go get coffee or tea to warm up. I can help you practice controlling your telepathy, if you want. I'm sure that friend of mine wouldn't mind giving you tips, either."

Charles gaped for a moment, struggling not to grip Erik's wrist. Erik's nervousness rolled off him in waves, and his smile fell a bit as he amended, "that is, if you'd like--"

"That'd be great," Charles interjected, and Erik's surprise was only present for a few seconds before he was beaming again, and that smile was unlike any Charles had ever seen before. "Thank you, my friend. This truly means a lot to me."

Erik's hand left his shoulder but his smile remained, imprinted in Charles's mind like a brand. "It is no problem at all," he replied, and he put his hand in his pocket and gestured to the other side of the bridge with his head. "Come on," he said, walking away from the railing. "I know a good coffee place near my home. We can get Emma to meet us there, if you would like."

Charles fell into step with Erik, not even looking back at the rippling water below. "That sounds wonderful. Just lead the way."

They walked away from the railing together, not holding hands but walking companionably side by side, their hands warming up in their pockets, and Charles asked about his metallokinesis, which got Erik off into a rant about how easy body work and other household chores are with his power. Charles couldn't believe it, but he found himself slowly falling for Erik with every passing moment.

He didn't look back at the bridge even once as he stepped onto dry land.

**Author's Note:**

> I might write an epilogue. Someday.
> 
> Listened to "What Would I Do" from Falsetto while writing.
> 
> My word editor was being odd with the formatting, so let me know if there are any mistakes that I missed.
> 
> Come visit me on [tumblr!](http://exacteyewriting.tumblr.com)


End file.
